The Stages of Falling
by FanfictMONSTER
Summary: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. This is how they fall in love. Destiel!


-This is so unbelievably long, but I didn't want to separate it into chapters because it's all part of one thing: the stages of death (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance) turned into the stages of falling (in love). How fitting for these two? I hope you enjoy this Destiel! :D I enjoyed writing it! Also, I must say that I don't own anything, I just love it to death.-

**Denial **

For weeks afterwards, Dean doesn't even think about it. And that's because it didn't happen. It never happened, and nothing can convince him otherwise- not the uncomfortable memory, not the awkward and fleeting glances between he and Cas across the room afterwards (when Sam was there but somehow distracted enough to miss it). It was a brief moment of "little import", as that nerdy son of a bitch would say, and one that would sure as hell never be dug up in conversation from the isolated place the both of them had buried it in their minds. And yet it was still present in a way that pissed Dean off to no end. Because as adamantly as he shoved it towards that place of nonexistence, it resisted without fail or weakening- it was always there somewhere in his mind, like some sort of hovering presence.

It shouldn't even be this big of a deal. It was nothing, really. That's what he tells himself at least, and he pretends to believe it while simultaneously knowing somewhere in his mind how much of a piece of crap that is. "It didn't happen, it was nothing, just forget about it…." And what Dean hates above all is the fact that he's doing such a shitty job of lying to himself.

Now, sitting alone in the Impala while Sam runs into the run-down diner to pick up some half cooked burgers, "Wheel In The Sky" humming on the second lowest volume notch, Dean sighs and leans back against his seat. He closes his eyes and finally gives the memory permission to rise to the surface of his thoughts after- what? Weeks? And as soon as he gives in to the scene, it dominates his mind.

The pain was excruciating, and blood trailing down from the cut on his head stung his eyes so badly that as much as Dean tried to keep them open, they would flutter shut and well with tears in resistance. He was broken on the ground, and blindly swinging the iron dagger in all directions, panic and determination mingling in his quick breathing and the swelling in his chest. Everything was loud and blurred, and Dean's arm was starting to go numb. He could still feel the deep slice at the shoulder where the muscles were torn and the flesh was raw and exposed, throbbing and jolting his chest with the pain that had since stopped travelling down to his fingers due to the severed nerves. His head pounded in unbearable waves of pain. The world was ebbing away slowly and something that felt a hell of a lot like sleep but more menacing somehow was beginning to cloud Dean's already impaired sight and mind. He thought he could hear Sam's voice, distant and aloof, shouting a command of some kind. Dean tried to mumble a response despite the fact he had no idea what Sam was screaming. Everything was cloudy and muted.

Suddenly, Dean jolted back to light, resurfacing from the smothering dark into blinding awareness as arms wrapped around him and lifted him up. He squeezed his eyes shut hard and moaned as his head thudded with his heartbeat, a protest against being moved so quickly. Dean clutched onto the person holding him, hands fisted in the thick material of their clothing. Everything was spinning and crashing and hot and suddenly- suddenly, Dean was somewhere else, somewhere soft and quiet, and the flashing and burning was gone. The bright colors behind his eyelids were replaced with darker, calmer ones. The air was cool and the lights were dim. Dean could feel the even breathing of the person holding him up and forcing him into consciousness, and somehow he knew that the danger had passed. He also knew that wherever he was, he didn't want to be there. He wanted to be fighting and helping his brother and Cas…. Cas. This had to be Cas. The realization hit him as he pieced together the scene. They'd all been fighting, Dean had been injured, and Cas… son of a bitch must have zapped them back to the motel room.

"Cas…." Dean's dry and cracking lips moved slightly and his throat rumbled the name, eyes still closed. He wanted to tell Cas to take him back, to let him fight, to fix him up and zap them both back to Sam. They'd left Sam alone, and for what? So that this bastard could take Dean back to safety to guarantee he would now be sitting around like a useless piece of crap until the fight was done. And yet at the same time, Dean was finding it hard to breathe and hard to see, and everything was aching dully, like a preview of the pain that would come later on when the shock of being injured wore off entirely. His arm was still numb.

"Shh," came the low, soft reply.

Dean was being lowered and he couldn't fight it. He still didn't have enough strength to open his eyes, and wasn't even sure if he could see if he did. What energy he had left was draining out of him at mach speed, so he gave a shuddering breath and let himself be carefully let down onto the cool white sheets of the bed. As soon as he did- he couldn't help it, he really couldn't- it was out before he could stop it: Dean made a low, animalistic noise of pain as he made contact with the mattress- his head reeled in stabbing pain and something in his chest feeling like it was rupturing. He didn't know how screwed up he was in there, but it felt like it was probably pretty bad.

"Rest, Dean," Cas said quietly, in his low, guttural voice.

Dean wanted to explain to Castiel that he couldn't really rest well while he was bleeding internally, but as he was working his jaw in preparation to groan out his sarcasm, he felt a warm hand brush the hair from his damp and bloody forehead. He finally forced his burning eyes open- just in time to see Cas' form loom over him- and he closed them again sharply as he felt the angel's lips on his head, soft and careful.

Dean's breathing hitched and suddenly nothing hurt, nothing. Inside, he felt normal, and- he blinked his eyes open- his head wound was gone and his eyes had stopped burning. It was as if the pain had been sucked out completely, leaving a swirling, breathless feeling in Dean's chest. Cas had mojo'd Dean back to health, back to life. And… he'd kissed him. Not like a real kiss or anything, but… Cas had kissed Dean's forehead as if he were a sick child or something. Dean's heart was pounding and for some reason that kiss made him feel incredibly unnerved and uncomfortable. In fact… he felt like he was in a sort of mild shock.

Why would Cas do something like that? He never did anything like that. Sure, he didn't understand half of the world around him or basically anything that humans did, but surely he had enough freakin' sense to know that kissing a friend- a man friend- was crossing some unspoken line of what was okay and what was not.

Dean looked up, parting his lips to demand Cas zap him back now that he was better, or ask him what thehell _that_ was for, or you know, maybe even both, but… the son of a bitch was gone. Dean's eyebrows knit together, eyes wide in irritated surprise.

"Cas?"

No response.

"Cas! Come back and get me, you son of a-" Dean stopped mid-sentence to frown and work his jaw in distracted frustration. He wanted to fight, he wanted to help Sam, and- damn it, he couldn't focus- why the hell had Cas kissed his head? Why would he do something like that?

Exhaustion was trudging through Dean's veins like lead, and he lay back against the headboard in a mix of irritation and defeat. He was pissed and he was confused, and his body felt worn out despite his angelic treatment. Dean was going to hand Cas' ass to him when he got back. Or at least that's what he promised himself in the heat of the moment.

Later, however, he didn't end up saying more than, "You alright, Sammy?" when the two of them returned to the motel room, and as for the kiss, Dean never brought it up again.

**Anger **

He was there with a muffled sound of feathers shuffling, just like he always came and went. But this time was different.

Because Dean hadn't been expecting to ever see Castiel again in this lifetime.

Dean stood there like an idiot as his throat tightened and his teeth ground together roughly, jaw clenching. His eyes were wide and glued to the bastard's stubbly face, and his eyebrows were caught half raised in a way that seemed stuck in a limbo between horror and pained disbelief.

This- whatever the _hell _this was- was not okay, not in the least. Dean's foot moved a little in order to turn his body to face Castiel squarely, since he had been caught mid-step by fucking Houdini here. Now they were standing on opposite sides of the room, just staring at each other like two deer in headlights, tense and static air filling the space between them. At least, Dean was staring. Castiel, on the other hand, had that solemn, calm look of superiority and endless mystery, and making an appearance, a familiar bonus: that godforsaken, everloving, _goddamn_ _look_ of total oblivious indifference. But what really gave Dean the last gentle push that set him off was Castiel's few words, "Hello again, Dean. …You look surprised."

Two months ago, almost exactly, Dean had watched Castiel die. He'd seen the fierce and gentle light in his eyes die as the blood spurted from his mouth, his chest, everywhere. He'd watched helplessly, screaming out to the angel until he was hoarse and until Cas was gone, literally gone- the only sign of his ever being there the ominous and darkened pool of blood on the floor. But he hadn't stopped after that night, no, because Cas had come back before and he would come back again. So Dean prayed every night, he called about a hundred times, leaving messages after listening to Castiel's dumb voicemail recording every single time despite how many times in the past Dean had suggested Cas change it now that he understood what a voicemail was. And there had not been one answered prayer, one returned call, one sign of life. And now Castiel was here in some motel room months later as if nothing had happened, and if there was one thing Dean sure as hell knew, it was that this was anything but okay.

"How long?"

"How lo-?"

"How long have you been back?"

Dean's voice cracked halfway through the sentence and he barely managed to suppress a hot swell of rage. The room was tense and silent for a few seconds as Dean breathed thickly in the space, only half sure he wanted to hear the answer to this. It had better be good- no- _golden_. And Dean was going to kick Cas' ass regardless of what crappy story or explanation came out of his mouth.

"Please try not to overreact, uh… it has been… nearly two months."

Dean let out a wild, uncharacteristic laugh of disbelief that lived for a mere moment, before fixating Cas with another stare full of a hundred emotions and impulses all battling each other furiously. He wanted to say so many things at once, but in all honesty he had no idea where to even begin. He inhaled sharply through his nose before working his jaw and managing to get out in a dangerously quiet tone, "So you've been back… this whole time?", not once removing his eyes from Castiel's.

Cas frowned a little, studying Dean with gentle blue pools that clashed and contrasted tremendously with Dean's fiery, angry emerald ones.

"No, not the entire time. I was dead for approximately an hour and twenty minutes-"

Dean was across the room in record time, less than a second, and felt his rage overcome him in a wave of heat. His knuckles cracked hard against Cas' jaw, and although he knew it was nothing to the angel, it felt damn good to him, so he did it again. And again. Castiel didn't resist as Dean hit him over and over again, flinching every time and making noises of mingled exertion and pain as his knuckles and fingers bruised against Castiel's cheekbone. And even though it was concrete against his skin, Dean punched Castiel with as much force as he could muster, backing the angel up towards the wall. After what must have been around ten punches, Dean suddenly and sharply turned his back and took a few steps away, overwhelmed with anger and emotion, before turning back to face the angel again with eyes searching, knuckles bleeding, and chest heaving.

"I prayed to you, Cas. Where were you then?" Dean's voice was gruff and threatening and hurting as he stepped closer, already winding himself up to attack again. "Hanging out in the clouds with some buddies? Bangin' some hot angel chicks and keeping your phone on silent?"

"Dean, I was preoccupied. I meant to come to you sooner, bu-"

Cas' cool and collected voice was cut off by a grunt as Dean punched him again. And again. He was going to kill Castiel for good this time. He punched harder and harder against Castiel's indestructible body, eyes welling with tears of pain and sweat breaking out across his flushed skin. His angry fist crashed into the angel's gentle features one more time before he stopped suddenly, his chest rising and falling with his ragged breathing, the two of them just staring at each other in dead silence. Cas' cheekbone was barely bruised and Dean's expression was pained and questioning all at once.

Then, suddenly and impulsively, Dean reached out and grabbed Castiel's face, pulling him roughly forward until their bodies clumsily collided, Castiel tripping forward a little, Dean stepping back slightly to brace himself. And without a thought in his head Dean tilted his head down to devour Castiel's lips, inhaling sharply through his nose as he brought their mouths together, choking off both their breaths at once. Castiel barely moved at first, eyes shut but everything else frozen in shock, but as Dean kissed him, fingers clutching the angel's hair and lips passionately working against the other man's, Cas began to melt into the embrace. He didn't understand so much of what was happening- if Dean was so angry with him, why was he showing affection like this? But the strange sensations in Cas' stomach left little room for thought or protest, so instead he tried hard to focus on the feeling of Dean's soft, wet lips gliding against his own and the taste of him- musky and smoky and minty- the taste of their first real kiss. Just as Castiel was beginning to kiss back- or rather, as he was beginning to learn to imitate Dean's movements- Dean jerked away as if he'd been struck. He stared at Cas across the sudden distance between them as if he'd been punched or betrayed somehow, with a look somewhere in the realm of terrified shock. He stared at Castiel as if he had been the one to initiate the contact, as if he was demanding to know why and how what just happened had happened.

Castiel's body hadn't reacted in the least when it was being beaten and bombarded by Dean's fist- no, but as soon as the hunter had touched his lips to Castiel's, something sparked to life within the angel. His chest was aching inside and heaving on the outside, his hair tussled and his tie even more screwed up than usual. He stared back at Dean, the characteristic calmness and aloofness a little offset now- he had been completely taken by surprise, and so many unexpected things had just occurred in the last minute that he was thrown off balance. Meanwhile, Dean looked like he had forgotten how to breathe.

"Dean-," Cas offered gently and roughly, all at once, but as soon as he spoke, Dean seemed to snap out of it- or perhaps more accurately ,into something else, and without a word or another look hesnatched his keys up off the bedside table and shouldered past the dark- haired man, grabbing his coat off the chair by the door before shutting it behind him sharply and leaving Castiel alone in the dingy two star room.

Castiel's breathing slowed and his eyes flickered, sliding down from the wall to the dirty floor, lost in thought as he raised a hand to lightly trail fingers along his wet lips.

A moment later the room was empty, but there were still shoe indents in the carpet.

**Bargaining **

"Dean?"

"Hey, (hiccup) Cas."

"Dean, where are you?"

"Doesn't matter. But Sammy's out tonight and I'm bored outta my freakin' mind."

"…The sole purpose for this call is to… keep you entertained?"

"Precisely."

"Why don't you go out to a bar instead and… socialize?"

"Don't have the energy. Besides, why would I wanna do something like that when I got a perfectly good friendta talk to right here?"

"…Are you intoxicated?"

"What makes you say that?"

"It's one- thirty four in the morning and your words are slurring together. From what I know of humans, that uh… strongly denotes an excess of alcohol intake…"

"(soft, disoriented laugh) Very impressive, Sherlock."

(dead air)

"…I'm sorry, Dean, but I don't know what you are expecting me to say. Moreover, it's unlikely you'll be able to make the most basic of conversation at the moment, considering your state."

"…You know what your problem is, Cas?"

(silence)

"Okay, calm down, I'll tell you. Your… your problem… is that… th…."

(waiting)

(silence)

(waiting)

"…Dean?"

(silence)

"…Dean."

"…mwhat?"

"You… were in the middle of a sentence."

"Oh… yeah… I fell asleep, I think… yeah, I probably fell asleep."

"Why don't you just… stay asleep, Dean? I'll speak to you in the morning."

"No, no, I'm not… m'not tired."

"(frown) But you just said you fell-"

"Shhh…. Listen, I'm going to t-"

(crash, thump)

"(distant) Son of a bitch!"

"…Dean? Hello? …Did you fall?"

(pause, shuffling)

"Shaddup, you cocky bastard. ….Yeah, I fell. S'what?"

"Perhaps for your own safety, you ought to lie down."

"I'm a big (hiccup) boy, Cas, I can put myself to bed, thanks."

(pause)

(creaking of a bed)

"There. Happy?"

" …I will see you tomorrow, Dean."

"(suddenly) Damn it, you can't do that, Cas."

"…What are you talking about?"

(crackling pause on the line)

"(heavier, annoyed voice) You can't pretend that… you can't keep doing that."

"Dean, I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Damn it, Cas, you-… you know what I mean. Don't make m'say it."

(hesitant pause)

"(quietly)… Are you talking about… what happened when I returned?"

(hesitation)

"(picking words as carefully as his drunken mind can) Not just then, Cas, every…. other freaking time I look at you. It's not… It's not like it was anymore, it's different, it's… it's all screwed up now."

"(blatant and quiet) Because you kissed me."

"(defensive, angrier) No, that's… that's not where it started. You started this, and I don't know why."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's your fault, you sorry son of a bitch. You got all… up in my head. You started it."

"(low and hinting discomfort) Dean, you're too drunk, we can't talk about this now-"

"Why did you kiss me, Cas?"

"What? You kissed _me_, Dean-"

"No. Before that. When I was hurt, you healed me and you kissed my forehead. Why would you do that?"

(quiet pause)

"..I… don't know…"

"Because that's what started it, Cas. You started it when you did that."

"(not as confidently as before) I… did not intend to 'start' anything…"

"What would it take to bring back the way it was? (voice cracks a little) Because I don't want to have to think about you anymore. Not like… not the way… (frustrated sigh)"

(quiet)

"…My apologies, Dean."

(quiet)

"(soft, drunken breath of laughter) You know what…? ….It's…. it's fine. Maybe it's just supposed to be like this. (sarcastic? It's hard to tell:) Maybe it's our "destiny". …Maybe… we're just in some freaky, awkward as hell transition period right now, right?"

"…Transition from what?"

(quiet)

"…You know what, Cas, I'm too drunk to talk right now. I'll see you tomorrow, 'kay?"

"Dean, wait-"

(dial tone)

(quiet)

(presses lips to phone)

Cas tries to bring it up later on, when they're both sober, but apparently Dean doesn't remember that early morning phone call.

(apparently)

**Depression **

It's an unspoken thing, but their relationship is now somewhere in nomansland and they both know it. It's plain to see, each glance, each fleeting moment of eye contact, each one full to the brim with the fact and the feelings. The days of casual friendship or a relationship of simply savior/savee is long gone- but not exactly sorely missed. At the same time, the final leap to earning the title of "partners" or "lovers" is too far in the distance to even catch a glimpse of. So they're both just standing there on the battlefield of their emotional turmoil, occasionally brushing hands but never holding them.

Dean's trouble nights in the beginning are few and far between, but as he tries harder and harder each day to keep up his façade of cocky smartass, they increase in both frequency and intensity. Some nights he fights the monsters in his dreams, and some nights he battles them in the bathroom while retching over the toilet. Still, other nights he spends them shaking and panicked, trying to claw the pain from his own skin half conscious of what he's even doing to himself.

The first time Cas interferes there is embarrassment, shock, and discomfort. He could feel Dean that night, miles away as the night terrors began, and he tried to ignore them and push them from his mind, he did. But the pulsing grew desperate and heated, and after a painful while Castiel couldn't ignore it any more. Whether it was intentional or not, Dean was sending out an S.O.S. Castiel showed up in the dark room just in time to see Dean scream himself violently awake, jerking up to a sitting position in his bed, panting and sweating. The two made stunned eye contact for a moment, before Cas quietly uttered, "My apologies," and disappeared.

The second time was just like the first, except that this time Castiel stayed a little too long and was greeted with a gruff and strained, "Get the hell out of here, Cas."

The third time, Castiel stays. He takes a step through the dark room toward the bed that's creaking from the strain of the intensity of the battle being fought on top of it. Sam isn't here.

"Dean," Cas says quietly. Dean chokes out a cry in his sleep. "Dean." The broken mess of the man on the bed suddenly inhales in a thick gasp of a breath and his green and terrified eyes flutter open wide. They adjust to the room and fly around their surroundings, taking in as much as they can as quickly as they can, before they find Castiel.

"Cas," Dean manages in a weak rumble of a voice, twitching and trembling. His hair is ruffled up and his eyes look scared and confused.

"It's alright, Dean," comes the soft reply, awkward and quiet.

Dean is shaking, and that's enough to motivate Cas to extend a hand to Dean's shoulder. Instinctively the hunter snaps away from the gesture, and Cas retreats a little before a shaky but strong hand grasps onto his. "No. Stay here, please… Cas…"

That night Castiel sits on the chair beside the bed and he holds onto Dean's hand until he falls asleep. And that nights, Dean realizes at some point drifting in his unconsciousness that lying there in the darkness, he suddenly actually doesn't give a fuck about his image and his buffness and his pretense he's been keeping up for months, acting like Castiel doesn't make him feel safe and doesn't give him butterflies and doesn't comfort him in the hardest moments.

Castiel senses the change too, and the next day when they see each other, they don't avoid eye contact. They don't seek it, either, but it's better than it's been since that first forehead kiss.

The next time Dean has his nighttime panic, Cas sits on the edge of the bed and wakes him up. They talk for half an hour before sleep overcomes Dean. The next time is pretty much the same, but also different- more comfortable.

The time after that, Dean pauses, watching the angel guarding his bedside, and he tentatively touches the mattress beside him. Cas pauses, frozen to the spot and assuring himself he's misunderstood. But Dean does it again, more firmly this time, patting the empty space beside him. After a moment's hesitation, never breaking eye contact, Castiel slowly, carefully, and clumsily climbs into the bed. At first they don't touch and it's silent between them. They can hear their own heartbeats in their ears and the nerves knot in their stomachs. But after a few minutes, Dean's fingers brush against Cas' side under the light cover blanket, and suddenly his arm is around Castiel's chest and Cas' hand is in Dean's ruffled hair, and everything feels pretty damn good.

This becomes routine for them after a while. Sometimes, when he's there, Sam wakes up and lies in bed quietly, listening to the soft whispers in the bed over, focusing on the sounds of the low voices and the gentle creaks of the bed, and he watches the black of the ceiling, just relieved that Dean isn't tortured at night anymore. He thanks Cas silently and wishes that Dean would stop being so afraid to love someone who doesn't have boobs, because he thinks this might be exactly what Dean needs.

One night, when it's really bad and Castiel doesn't get there on time to cut it off before it happens, he holds Dean and wipes away the tears that track down his cheeks. He whispers quietly, "I'm here, Dean," and Dean, sitting there in his most raw and vulnerable state, tilts his head up slightly to say in a rough voice, "Hallelujah." Castiel leans down and plants a long, deep his in Dean's soft hair. Dean's body is cradled in Cas' arms and he breathes easily there.

And this time, he doesn't mind the kissing.

**Acceptance**

It is only when the lights are dim and Dean is just about naked in every sense of the word- in body and soul, exposed and vulnerable before Castiel- that he accepts this raw and wonderful thing that has rooted between them. He lays back on the sheets, bare chest rising with each heavy breath, hands on either side of Castiel's strong jaw, eyes locked in a gaze with his angel. Dean wants to tell him so much more than people have invented words for, so he looks at him instead- looks into him- as he runs his thumb along the angel's soft bottom lip, gently parting it from the top one. A smile breaks over Dean's face then, lighting up his whole being, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his teeth gleaming out from between his lips. Castiel still doesn't completely understand what lures such reactions out of humans, but he has grown to understand what makes Dean smile, and more importantly, has memorized this smile- the one Dean makes only to Castiel- down to the last twitch of the corner of his mouth. Without even realizing it, Castiel mirrors Dean's expression, but in a more subtle way; his lips turn upwards at the corners and his eyes light up as they watch Dean just… being so happy. Lying here with almost no clothing, the ghosts and tastes of earlier kisses on his lips and Castiel's face in his hands. This is when Cas sees the smile he has never seen from Dean before.

When Castiel removes the last piece of clothing from the hunter and sees him in full- all the scars and freckles and blemishes against his skin, he pauses for a moment and looks at this piece of art in its entirety. All the stories and experiences and emotional trauma that make up Dean Winchester. Dean's last defense is down- his walls have collapsed and he's standing there in the clouded dust of their demolition, and suddenly he is terrified. Because he's been naked in front of too many people to keep track of, but he's never been bare before.

As Dean watches through unsure eyes and braces himself with a strong swallow, Castiel leans down slowly over Dean's cut and screwed up body and carefully touches his lips to Dean's before speaking in a quiet voice so impossibly full of adoration, "You are the real angel."

And Dean chokes out a laugh and dry sob at the same time, and just in case tears come Castiel is there to kiss them away. For the rest of the night, Dean blossoms and opens himself at Castiel's touch in ways he has never done before for anyone else. Through the night he teaches Castiel, but he simultaneouslylearns more from the wide-eyed, innocent angel than he ever thought he could. Their sounds and rhythms harmonize and intertwine in the peaceful quiet of the room.

Throughout the night Dean watches expressions dance across Castiel's face within an incredible range- from surprise to confusion to exhilarated pleasure- and nothing is better to Dean than knowing that he is the one who is giving Castiel these firsts, coaxing out those sounds, making him move like that. Knowing that this is Castiel's night of firsts- and he chose Dean to give them to him- is the highest honor and responsibility Dean can think of.

As for Castiel, seeing Dean so vulnerable is such a rare experience that throughout this night he often finds himself pausing in fascinated awe to watch this beautiful creature before him, giving himself up and trusting his soul to Castiel. This is everything Heaven should be, in his opinion.

Battling through stage after stage of falling has been exhausting, frustrating, and trying, but this last stage makes everything else seem worth it. The words still don't come with ease exactly, and maybe they never will for Dean, but they come easier now than they ever have or will with anyone else, even with family. He only says them after they have moaned and caressed and gasped together, after the lights have gone out and it is quiet in the room. Not silent, but quiet. Only then does Dean finally accept the blaringly obvious and evasively inevitable-

"Cas… I… love you, I think."

No, acceptance has never felt so wonderful to Dean. (And he's sure as hell it never will again.)


End file.
